Requited Love
by ButterflyInMotion
Summary: Xander accidentally spies a secret moment between Willow and Tara.


Pairing: Willow/Tara, hints of Xander/Anya, Buffy/Riley, Buffy/Xander  
Distribution: Anywhere, as long as you let me know where it's going.   
Disclaimer: Joss made 'em up. I'm just borrowing.  
Summary: Xander accidentally spies a secret moment between Willow and Tara.  
Spoilers: Up to 'Listening To Fear'  
Feedback: Always, any kind at all. I have a thick skin.   
Author's Notes: Xander's POV, first-person.  
  
I had to admit I was getting frustrated. There wasn't anything to find in a single one of Giles' books. No healing spells, not even anything to tell us whether or not she would make it. I leaned against the inside of the counter, sliding down to the floor, my head falling back with a thump against the wood, my right hand curling into a fist. My eyes slammed shut as I remembered the scene at the hospital a few hours ago.  
  
Seeing Buffy and Dawn holding onto each other as Joyce was wheeled away... God, all I wanted to do was hold them and tell them everything would be alright. I wish Buffy would talk to us, I wish she could let go of her stubborn strength for one moment to share her pain. I can understand why she doesn't. I've certainly hidden my share of pain about my family... things that not even Willow know about.  
  
But I miss Buffy. I miss the way we used to talk. I could have talked to her forever. I miss the way I could light her bluey-green eyes up with a silly joke, the way she would ever-so-slightly tilt her head, her golden curtain of hair falling to the side. I miss the sweet smile that turned her into the most beautiful woman in the world. The way the everpresent pain in her eyes would fade to a faint shadow as she let herself feel the simple joy of friendship. I could make her happy in a way no one else ever has, ever could. God, even in my most selfless moments I retain that core of self-centeredness. But it's true. Angel inspired passion but not carefree laughter. Willow never lit up the depths of her eyes. Riley has never made her inner pain shrink to a pale image of itself. Is it selfish to be grateful for having for a small piece of her that only I can reach?  
  
My eyes slowly open as I reach into my pocket, pulling out my worn leather wallet. I gently open it, carefully taking out the picture I keep inside. I can feel my lips draw into a small smile as I look at it. Willow's smiling into the camara, innocent and unafraid. Buffy's looking at me, distracted by a joke I had just made. Amazingly, the picture almost captures the pure glow of her happiness, the tilt of her chin, the softness of her smiling lips, the joy in her eyes. Her vibrant life reaches out from the photograph, giving the impression that at any moment she might move. I gently touch her face, my mind whispering the words I can't say out loud ever again. 'I love you, Buffy.'   
  
I put the picture away, harshly reminding myself of Riley and Anya. Riley, simple Iowa farmboy, dangerous ex-commando. Riley, just a guy who happens to be in love with Buffy. The guy who is my first male friend in years. I didn't think I'd ever have a guy friend again, not after what happened with Jesse. Jesse, my friend I never talk about... I can hide my pain better than Buffy anyday. 'Does she remember him?' I find myself wondering at times. He was the first vampire I ever staked, the only male friend I had ever had. But I can never let myself think about it... never remember how easy it was, never remember how I had the bizarre thought that vampires were like butter when you staked them, never think about the ache I feel when something huge happens and I want to tell Jesse about it and I can't, never think about not having a body to bury, the fact that his grave is just a stone, that there's nothing under it...  
  
I think about something else.  
  
I truly despise myself sometimes.  
  
Anya doesn't deserve me. She deserves someone who can love her, someone whose soul is pure and whose heart is free. Someone who isn't hopelessly in love with a girl who's beyond his reach, who's always been beyond his reach.  
  
I must have been too busy drowning myself in my thoughts to notice the door open because Willow's voice inside the shop was a sudden shock.  
  
"No one's here." Before I could say a word, the sound of heavy kissing reached me. I couldn't do anything now without severe embarrassment to all three parties. 'Another fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Xander.' I silently chided myself. 'Trapped between two Wiccans and a wall. You can't escape now.'  
  
"Have I mentioned that I love you?" Willow's voice again, soft but urgent.   
  
"Not in oh... at least 10 minutes." Tara's voice, teasing and gentle. Her words inspire a long silence, interrupted by low moans. My mind easily conjures up images of the two, reminding me of the heated kiss in my spell-brought dream. Of course, they probably looked nothing like the leather-clad domiatrix figures in my dream. Porn, in dreams or on paper, is never realistic.  
  
The moaning stops and someone, Tara by the footsteps, walks away from where I am. 'I'm Only Happy When It Rains' starts up mid-chorus and I realized she must have turned on Giles' battery-powered radio, his one concession to Buffy's musical needs. 'Wonder if that's still Angel's favorite song?' I find myself thinking caustically, before freezing that train of thought in its tracks. The song stops abruptly, Tara obvious not finding it appropriate 'mood' music. Willow's lighter footsteps make their way to Tara, as the two begin kissing again, sans music.  
  
The soft sounds stop, Willow panting softly as she speaks.  
  
"I have to meet Buffy at her house at eight. I'm already ten minutes late. I promised I'd be there in case the hospital called. Forgive me?"   
  
"Always." Is Tara's instantaneous response. My moist eyes slide shut. 'If I only had the chance to say those words to Buffy. All those sweet words.'   
  
The door gently shuts behind them. I remain still and silent on the floor, damning myself as thoughts of Buffy return. My eyes stay closed, my chances for any peace, any grace, slipping further away.  
  
The End 


End file.
